


Driver's Education

by arrowofcarnations



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, jock!Derek, nerd!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowofcarnations/pseuds/arrowofcarnations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the moment he realizes he can never have Derek Hale – that he was stupid to ever think he could. Maybe their moms made them hang out when they were little and maybe they’ve managed to get along these past few weeks, but they’re too different. Derek’s cool, he plays a million sports, he drives a Camaro, he’s friends with <em>Jackson</em>. Stiles doesn’t fit into the equation and he never will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driver's Education

Stiles runs into Talia Hale at 7-11, just as he’s getting maybe the worst brain freeze in history from his Dr. Pepper Slurpee (not the most inspired flavor, he admits, but a tried and true vessel of deliciousness nonetheless). He’s just sticking the pad of his thumb onto the roof of his mouth to abate the aching numbness when she spots him in the candy aisle.

“Stiles!” she greets with a genuinely pleased smile. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“You too, Mrs. Hale,” he replies after jerking his thumb out of his mouth with a blush. Jesus, he should really know by now what happens when you chug an ice cold Slurpee too fast.

“It’s been a long time,” she notes and they share the same sad, kind of awkward smile.

Talia and his mother had been really good friends, so he used to see her a lot. Ever since his mom had died they’d really only seen each other like this – running into each other around town.

“That’s your Jeep out there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he confirms.

“Are you a good driver?” she asks curiously.

“Err, yeah,” he answers awkwardly. “I mean, my dad takes driving pretty seriously, you know, being the sheriff and all. He took me out driving a lot while I was learning.”

“Derek’s been having some trouble with his driving lately,” Talia tells him conspiratorially. “He has his license and everything, but to be honest, he’s a _terrible_ driver. Can’t seem to get a handle on not stomping on the gas and brake pedals, you know? He took out our mailbox the other day!”

Stiles can’t help but think how much Derek would hate that his mom is telling Stiles all of this. They used to kind of be friends, Stiles thinks, back when their mothers were spending so much time together. Stiles always liked Laura and Cora more, though, particularly because Derek was never overly friendly. Still, they had been the kind of friends that could talk casually in the halls of middle school. Derek got more into sports, though, while Stiles joined the debate team, the academic decathlon team, and about a million other clubs. Anyway, he and Derek haven’t exchanged so much as a casual ‘hello’ since high school started.

“Well, getting the hang of reversing can be pretty difficult,” Stiles offers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Took me a while to get used to backing up out of our driveway.”

Talia winces. “He was coming into the driveway, not backing out of it.”

“Oh,” he replies dumbly because, yeah, that’s pretty bad.

“I’ve just had the most wonderful idea,” she tells him, clapping her hands together. “What would you say to giving Derek some driving lessons? My husband and I just don’t have the time.”

 _Hell no_ , Stiles thinks emphatically and contemplates a more polite way to convey that to Talia while he sips from his Slurpee.

“I’d pay you, of course. Twenty bucks an hour sound okay? Since you’d be taking your life into your own hands and all,” she jokes. “You can practice with the Camaro so he can finally get used to driving it.”

“Well, sure, Mrs. Hale. I’d be happy to give Derek lessons,” Stiles agrees gleefully.

He needs money, okay? Also, _Camaro_. He’s been drooling over that thing ever since Laura posted a picture of it to Facebook on her 16h birthday. He’d ridden in it once when Laura saw him walking home from, coincidentally, 7-11 a couple of years ago.

“Perfect,” Talia chirps, sounding relieved. “I’ll tell Derek to find you at school tomorrow so you can figure out what times work best for you, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, she waves cheerfully and heads off toward the coolers along the wall. Stiles walks out to his Jeep, wondering if he’s just made a really stupid decision. Oh well, the money will totally be worth it.

*

He’s basically convinced himself that there’s no way in hell Derek would actually accept driving lessons from him, so he’s admittedly pretty surprised when the man himself reluctantly drops into the seat across from him during lunch the next day.

Lydia, who’s sitting next to him, simply raises her eyebrows before going back to her yogurt (Greek) and her book (also Greek), but Stiles can tell there will be questions later.

“Let’s get this over with,” Derek snaps and gee, isn’t that a lovely way to start a conversation? Stiles says as much to him, earning himself a simultaneous eye roll and scowl.

“Fine,” Stiles agrees, heaving a put-upon sigh. “When do you want to meet?”

“I have early bird basketball training every morning and after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Which is actually the answer to the question when can’t you meet, but Stiles goes with it.

“Yeah, those aren’t good for me either. Student Council, Yearbook, Newspaper, and Chemistry club all meet in those times.”

Derek rolls his eyes, _again_. “Wednesdays after school then,” he says decisively.

“We have AcaDec,” Lydia interjects again, more to Stiles this time.

“Right, yeah. Wednesdays aren’t good.”

“What the hell is AcaDec?” Derek asks.

“Academic Decathlon,” Lydia answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Come to think of it,” Stiles begins, “Mondays aren’t good either. We have debate.”

Derek throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “When _can_ you meet?”

“Well, French club is after school on Fridays so… Saturdays?”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek mutters angrily. “Yeah. Fine. Saturdays. Does noon work for you or do you have to go to a seminar on how to fit as many extracurricular activities into one week as possible?”

“No, that’s not until four,” Stiles replies in his most saccharine voice. “Pick you up at noon, sourpatch.”

Rolling his eyes one last time in Stiles’ direction, Derek stomps away from their table and back to the one he usual sits at with some of his various teammates – Boyd from baseball, Isaac from basketball, Danny and Jackson from lacrosse, various others Stiles can’t put a name to. Erica Reyes sits with them, too (or essentially _on_ them in Boyd’s case). Stiles has heard she’s the best and most ruthless tennis player in the school and she looks like she has the arm muscles to prove it. Stiles makes a mental note to never piss her off – death by tennis racquet is not how he wants to go.

“Why was Derek Hale sitting here?” Scott asks as he and Allison take their seats after their traditional lunchtime makeout session in an abandoned classroom.

“Yes, Stiles,” Lydia begins sweetly. “Why was Derek Hale sitting here, trying so desperately to snatch up your free time?”

Stiles sighs and begins to tell his friends the tale of Talia Hale and the Dr. Pepper Slurpee.

*

Saturday comes far too quickly, as far as Stiles is concerned. Every single day that’s passed he regrets more and more his agreement to Talia’s proposal. He’s either going to die from Derek’s bare hands or from Derek crashing the Camaro. Either way, it’s Derek’s fault. Still, he drags himself into his Jeep and over to the Hale house, arriving a few minutes after twelve.

“You’re late,” Derek informs him flatly when Stiles knocks on the door.

“Oh no, two whole minutes!” Stiles cries mockingly.

“Whatever, let’s go.” Derek pushes past him and towards the driver’s side of the Camaro.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses there, cowboy. Where are you going?”

Derek raises his eyebrows at him and gives him a look like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever seen. “My mom said she told you we’d practice with the Camaro.”

“I meant why are you trying to get into the driver’s seat?”

“Gee, Stiles, I don’t know. Maybe because this is my car?”

“Yeah, I am not getting into a car with you behind the wheel until I can test your ability.”

“I can drive just fine,” Derek practically growls.

“Not according to your smashed mailbox,” Stiles retorts, crossing his arms and pointedly eyeing the scratches on the front bumper of the Camaro that he can only assume are battle scars from the destroyed mailbox.

“Get in the damn car, Stiles,” he demands through gritted teeth.

“No.”

They glare at each other for a long minute before Derek throws the keys at him and gets into the passenger side, slamming the door shut. The keys hit Stiles in the chest but he manages to grapple for them before they hit the ground. With a smug smirk, he settles into the driver’s seat, reveling in the not torn up leather upholstery. He loves his baby Roscoe, but the Jeep is admittedly a little… rough around the edges.

“Ooh, seat coolers,” Stiles notes excitedly, pressing one of the many buttons in the car before finding a good radio station (satellite radio, not local – the Camaro has _all_ the special features).

Derek sits stubbornly in the passenger seat with his arms crossed as Stiles eases the car down the road going through the Preserve. The gas and brake pedals in this car are far touchier than Roscoe’s, but he gets used to them pretty quickly.

“How are you going to ‘test my ability’ if you won’t even let me drive?” Derek asks snottily after several minutes of silence. “This whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t believe my mom is forcing me to do this.”

“I’ll let you drive,” Stiles tells him, ignoring the second part of his little rant.

“When?” the other boys asks grumpily.

“Now,” Stiles answers, pulling into a huge, empty parking lot behind some large office building. “There are so few ways you could kill me here. It’s perfect.”

“I could think of a few,” Derek mutters.

“Do you want to drive or not?”

Derek doesn’t answer verbally (shocking) but instead lifts himself out of the car and walks around to Stiles’ side, opening the door and gesturing for him to get out. Actually, judging by the look on Derek’s face, it’s really more of a _get the fuck out of my car before I set it on fire just to spite you_.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Stiles mock swoons, blowing a kiss at Derek.

They settle into their new seats and Stiles tries to guide Derek in how to get ready to drive.

“I know how to put on a goddamn seatbelt!” Derek yells about ten seconds in. Stiles wisely lets him take it from there (at least until he puts the car into gear – he reserves the right to direct as much as he wants then).

“Okay, so be very careful with the gas pedal,” Stiles warns right before Derek sends them lurching across the parking lot. “Excellent demonstration of _not_ careful. Jesus Christ, do you want to kill all the mailboxes in Beacon Hills? Or the squirrels? Because at this point I’m beginning to think that the woodland creature population is in serious danger.”

“Shut up,” Derek barks.

An hour later, Derek finally has a handle on the sensitivity of the pedals and isn’t sending them face first into the dashboard every time he brakes. He did, however, almost wrap them around a pole in the middle of the lot when Stiles was trying to teach him how to check his mirrors without losing control of the car. Still, progress was made, Stiles thinks when he drives them back to the Hale house (Derek hasn’t earned his driving privileges).

“You know, you’re really not that bad,” Stiles tells him when they pull up to the house, trying to sound encouraging. He realizes he’s been kind of a dick about Derek’s driving abilities (although he still maintains that it was for his own safety). “If we keep doing this I think you’ll improve quickly.”

“Whatever,” Derek dismisses when they pull up to his house.

Talia comes out to greet them with a big smile on her face. Derek stomps into the house without saying goodbye to Stiles, leaving a frowning mother in his wake.

“I think he’s just frustrated,” Stiles offers magnanimously.

“Hmm,” Talia considers. “Well, thank you for this Stiles. I hope he’s made some progress.”

She hands him a crisp twenty dollar bill and he tucks it happily into his wallet.

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Hale,” he bids, clambering into his Jeep.

Derek’s still an asshole, but Stiles is a richer man for it, so he can’t complain.

*

“He was so rude!” Stiles bitches at Lydia, Scott, and Allison as they sit around Lydia’s living room eating pizza and watching movies that night.

So maybe he can complain.

“Seriously, I’m doing the guy a _favor_ , right? There was no need for him to be such a dick to me.”

“You got paid, though, right?” Scott asks.

“Yeah.”

“Who cares then?” his oldest friend shrugs, biting into another piece of pizza.

“Apparently Stiles does,” Lydia says thoughtfully. “I wonder why.”

“Ugh, don’t use that voice. I hate that voice.”

“What voice?” she demands. “I wasn’t using a voice.”

“Yes, you were. It was your ‘I know something and I’m not telling you’ voice.”

“That’s not even a real thing,” Lydia denies.

“It definitely is,” Allison chimes in and then quickly returns to picking the pepperoni off her pizza when Lydia shoots her a look, although Stiles doesn’t miss the grin on the brunette’s face.

“Well, if I was using such a voice, then it was only because it’s so painfully obvious that our little Stiles has a crush on Derek Hale.”

“I do not!” Stiles screeches.

“Dude, no, it makes sense,” Scott says. “’I mean, I was wondering why you agreed to the whole thing in the first place but yeah, you having a boner for the dude totally makes sense.”

“I did it for the money! I do not have a boner for Derek Hale,” he denies vehemently.

“I think it’s cute,” Allison offers. “I mean, it’s obvious he has a thing for you.”

“No it’s not… is it?” he asks uncertainly.

Allison shrugs. “Why in the world would Derek Hale agree to take driving lessons from you if he already has his license? I’m telling you, it doesn’t add up. He’s got the hots for you.”

“His mom made him,” Stiles reminds them all when they start agreeing with Allison. “Trust me, he was super pissed about the whole thing.”

“Whatever you say,” Scott shrugs, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face.

“Ugh, let’s change the subject,” Stiles demands, a sly smile forming on his lips. “For instance, we could talk about the fact that I saw Lydia and Jackson Whittemore sneaking out of an empty classroom on Friday.”

“We were just talking,” Lydia informs them primly.

“Then where’d you get the hickey?” Allison teases and Lydia smacks her playfully with a pillow from the couch while Scott laughs.

Stiles is just glad they’re not talking about him and Derek anymore. Because there is no him and Derek. Even if Stiles did, as Lydia put it, have a crush on the guy, it would be even more pointless than that period between third and sixth grade where he’d been convinced he was in love with Lydia. Because Derek Hale would never like a nerdy, scrawny little shit of a guy like Stiles.

*

Stiles isn’t sure what to expect when he makes the drive to the Hale’s the next Saturday. He’d gotten the feeling after the last week that Derek maybe wasn’t on board with the idea of having another lesson (could it have been because the whole thing was a monumental disaster?) but he hadn’t gotten the chance to ask Derek about it at all during the week and he doesn’t have his number to text him. But the idea of backing out on a commitment makes him antsy and the potential to earn himself a bit more money is too tempting, so he goes anyway.

“I’m driving this time,” is what Derek says when Stiles tentatively knocks on the door.

“Um, okay,” Stiles replies because he’s a little bit stunned that he’s not being punched in the face.

Derek manages to reverse out of the driveway without any casualties, so Stiles tries to take that as a sign that he’s totally not going to be horribly maimed at any point. Apparently he’s not doing so well because a few minutes later Derek huffs and turns to him.

“Could you stop gripping your seat and slamming on your damn invisible brake over there? It’s really annoying,” he snaps.

“Eyes on the road!” Stiles yells and then winces when Derek obeys but looks almost… hurt? “I’m sorry,” Stiles says, releasing the seat from his white-knuckled grip and trying to relax in his seat. “I know I’m being a dick, I’m just… nervous.”

“No shit,” Derek deadpans, making a really wide right turn onto a different street. He’s keeping his eyes trained on the road now but Stiles can still picture the mossy green of them, flashing in irritation. He can’t help but smile to himself – Derek’s the only person he knows who could look so angry but so attractive at the same time.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks, suddenly realizing he wasn’t really paying attention.

Derek’s quiet for a moment but seems to have found what he was looking for when he pulls to a stop on a street in what Stiles realizes is one of the new housing developments in Beacon Hills that basically have no one living in them yet.

“I need to learn how to parallel park,” Derek admits quietly and then gets out of the car, only to pop the trunk and pull out a couple of orange cones.

Stiles follows suit and exits the car, watching Derek curiously as he furrows his brows at the cones.

“How far apart should I put these?”

“We’ll start with them really far apart, okay?” Stiles decides and then gestures to where Derek should put the cones, a very generous distance apart.

They get back into the car and Stiles instructs Derek on where to start, in parallel with the front cone.

“Okay, so put it into reverse, crank the wheel to the right, and ease back into the spot. Then once you’re getting kind of close to the curb, you want to turn the wheel the other way, okay? To straighten the car out.”

On the first try, his back right wheel hits the curb and he growls before getting back into the starting position and giving it another go. He hits the second cone and slams his fist on the wheel while Stiles goes to set it up again.

“It’s fine, Derek,” he assures when he gets back in the car. “Just try again, alright? You’ll get it this time. I know you know how to do it.”

“This is stupid,” Derek snarls. “The cones are like fifty fucking feet apart. Why can’t I…” he trails off, blowing out a long breath and slouching in his seat.

For the first time, Stiles realizes that maybe Derek hadn’t been pissed at him this whole time but frustrated with himself.

“The way I see it,” Stiles begins, “is that you have two choices. One, you give up right now and never learn how to parallel park. Or two, you suck it up and do it.”

So Stiles isn’t that comforting of a person by nature. He likes to think he’s motivating in his own way. And besides, it totally works because Derek clenches his jaw and sets the car up, reversing into the spot slowly until he’s parallel with the curb and totally within the confines of the cones. Granted he’s like almost three feet from the curb, but still totally parallel.

“You did it!” he screeches excitedly, unthinkingly clapping Derek on the shoulder and grinning brightly at him. The corners of Derek’s lips turn up and Stiles thinks he looks like he’s trying to hold back a smirk. He looks a little smug anyway, though. “Let’s give you a real challenge, huh?” Stiles teases and goes to shrink the distance between the cones.

Derek manages to do even better than the last time, getting the car parallel to the curb with only about a foot between them. Stiles decreases the distance a little more and Derek looks pretty pleased with himself when he manages to make another successful parking job.

“Think you’re ready to graduate to cars instead of cones?” Stiles asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Derek agrees and Stiles doesn’t call him out for sounding a little nervous.

Derek drives them toward one of Beacon Hills’ commercial districts – full of strip malls and restaurants. They drive around for a couple minutes, trying to find a spot for him to try out that isn’t too ridiculously tiny. They find one eventually and Derek flicks on his turn signal before carefully easing into the spot. It’s not perfect and they bump the curb a little at one point, but he does it.

“I think you’ve got parallel parking down. Now what?”

“Now lunch.”

“Lunch?” Stiles asks, confused.

“I mean, we should celebrate,” Derek explains, shifting in his seat and not meeting Stiles’ eye.

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, feeling a little shell-shocked. “Where should we go?”

Derek points to a building they’re parked pretty close to. “Tony’s.”

“I’m always down for pizza,” Stiles agrees with a smile.

They get a table toward the back of the restaurant and argue over toppings for a few minutes before discovering they both like Hawaiian. Stiles is pretty excited – Scott, Lydia, and Allison all detest Hawaiian and on the rare occasion he lets his dad have pizza it’s Italian sausage or nothing.

Conversation is slow at first but picks up when Derek asks him about how he managed to get involved in so many clubs at school. And also why he ever decided so subject himself to so many school commitments.

“Well it kind of started in middle school, right? When Lydia and I became friends. She was going on and on about how she would never get into Harvard if she didn’t have enough extracurriculars. ‘Course now she wants to go to MIT but still, the point is: she convinced me to start a debate team with her. And then it just kind of spiraled and to be honest got kind of addicting. Sometimes I can’t even keep track of them.”

“I didn’t even know we had so many clubs at school,” Derek admits, taking a big bite out of his pizza slice.

“You should think about joining one,” Stiles suggests. “They really do look good on college apps. Oh! You should join Spanish Club!”

Derek looks skeptical. “Spanish Club?”

“Dude, I know it’s been awhile since we’ve like, hung out or whatever, but I totally remember you being able to speak Spanish.”

Derek shrugs, cheeks tinting pink. “I don’t really think I have time, what with basketball and all.”

“Spanish Club is hardly a huge commitment, Derek. We meet once a week during lunch.”

“I don’t know,” Derek says. “Probably not.”

“Well, if you change your mind, it’s Wednesdays in Senora Rivera’s room.”

Derek switches the subject after that (to movies – so it’s really not Stiles’ fault he goes off on a ramble about how much he wants to see the new Wes Anderson). The drive home is by far their most comfortable moment in a car (partially because they’re not actively antagonizing one another, partially because Derek isn’t almost running them up the curb every five seconds).

Talia meets them outside again and this time Derek says goodbye and gives a little wave before going inside. She tries to hand Stiles forty bucks but he quickly gives one of the bills back.

“You were gone two hours,” she points out, trying to give the money back.

“We stopped for lunch,” Stiles explains.

“Really?” she asks, eyebrows raised and looking somewhere between skeptical and pleased.

“Yeah. Thanks, though,” he says before clambering into the Jeep.

He can’t stop thinking about Derek the whole way home.

*

On Wednesday, Stiles almost chokes on a bite of Senora Rivera’s homemade salsa when Derek walks into the room. Derek looks nervous, almost agitated, as he comes to the table Stiles is sitting at with Lydia, Scott, and Allison.

“You came,” Stiles sputters out after managing to swallow his food.

“Er, yeah,” Derek confirms unnecessarily, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting a little on his feet.

“Sit down,” Allison invites warmly, pushing out the empty chair next to Stiles with her foot.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks after taking the seat, eyeing the scattered sheets of paper filled with writing in Spanish on the table.

“We’re writing to our pen pals in Mexico City,” Stiles explains. “We write to them in Spanish and they write back in English. You can help me write to Miguel,” he offers and pens a sentence on his paper saying that his friend Derek will be writing to him as well before handing the paper over to Derek.

Stiles can’t help but watch Derek as he reads through what Stiles has already written and adds his own thoughts to the subjects. He’d forgotten how careful and diligently Derek wrote; each letter penned somewhat slowly but the end result being much neater and eligible than Stiles’ hurried scrawl. Stiles justifies it by telling himself it’s just because if he doesn’t write fast, he’s bound to lose the millions of thoughts flying through his mind. His pen has to keep up with his train of thought – not an easy task.

Derek only writes a couple of paragraphs before handing the letter back to Stiles, who finishes it with a signature before forcing Derek to sign it as well. They spend the rest of the lunch break munching on chips and salsa and chatting with Scott and Allison while Lydia continues to write furiously. Her and her pen pal, a girl named Carmen, use their letters to discuss and argue various scientific, political, mathematical, and literary subjects. Judging by the furrow in Lydia’s brow and a few sketches of chemical makeups in the margins of the paper, they’re currently arguing over some sort of scientific principle. Their letters to each other are much different than he and Miguel’s – which consist mostly of video games and movies. Of course, leave it to Lydia to get matched with a pen pal just as intimidatingly brilliant as she is.

It’s surprisingly fun – as all his interactions with Derek are turning out to be. If someone would have told him after that first driving lesson that he’d ever be at a point where he’d almost consider himself _friends_ with Derek Hale, he would have bet a million dollars otherwise. Of course, the fact that they’re getting so friendly is _not_ helping with the whole not finding his green eye’s amazingly attractive or fantasizing about running his fingers through Derek’s thick, dark hair.

Nope. Not helpful at all.

*

By Saturday, he’s admitted to himself that he’s got a full-blown ridiculous crush on Derek Hale. And not just in an he’s attractive and Stiles wants to jump his bones kind of way but in a he’s smart and funny and actually kind of nice and yes, very attractive with super jump-able bones kind of way.

He tries not to show how nervous he is when he gets into the Camaro in front of the Hale house, which turns out to be really difficult when Derek grins at him.

“What else do you think you need to work on?” Stiles asks, keeping his eyes trained away from Derek.

“Interstate driving, I think,” Derek replies.

Stiles nods in agreement and relaxes in his seat as Derek drives them (carefully!) onto the interstate that runs north of town. He keeps a steady pace on road and even uses the cruise control when the traffic is low. Stiles feels awkward at first but once they start arguing over radio stations it starts to feel like familiar, if friendlier, territory and soon they’re laughing together over an enthusiastic rendition of a Katy Perry song.

“I think you secretly love Katy Perry,” Stiles teases as Derek hums the last bars of the song. “She’s your favorite really. You own all her albums. And probably went to her concert near here last year. Did you wear a shirt made of lollipops?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with her music.”

“Of course not, but if there’s pictures of that lollipop shirt I’d like to see them.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I didn’t go to her concert.”

“Aww, bummer. Next time.”

“You’re so annoying,” Derek huffs without any heat to his voice. Stiles tries not to feel too smug.

They make it three towns over before turning back. When they’re exiting the interstate and Stiles sees the intersection up ahead where they’ll have to turn left to get to the Hale house, he decides to be brave.

“Do you want to get lunch again?” he asks. “Like last week? We could go to Beacon Burgers.”

“Sounds good,” Derek agrees easily, swinging the car into the right lane (after checking his mirrors properly).

Stiles lets out a breath in relief. He’s going on a date with Derek Hale. Well, it’s not _technically_ a date. But he asked him to lunch. There was a certain date-like quality to the whole thing. Even if it was something that friends did together all the time. Maybe he should pay for the Derek’s meal at the end. That’d make it more like a date. Unless Derek ends up finding it weird? He agonizes over the status of the not-really-a-date until he suddenly realizes they’re pulling into the parking lot of the diner.

The world ends when they walk through the door. Or at least, that’s how it feels when an all too familiar voice yells Derek’s name.

They both turn their heads to the source of the voice, Jackson Whittemore. He’s sitting at a table with some other guys – Stiles recognizes Matt Daehler and Danny Mahealani among them. Derek kind of freezes like a deer in the headlights when he sees Jackson waving them over.

“We don’t have to—“ Derek starts to say before Jackson cuts him off.

“Ditch the loser and get over here!” he calls and Daehler laughs, as if Stiles isn’t standing _right there_.

A choked noise sounds from Derek’s throat and he looks between Jackson and Stiles like he has no idea what’s happening.

Stiles does, though. This is the moment he realizes he can never have Derek Hale – that he was stupid to ever think he could. Maybe their moms made them hang out when they were little and maybe they’ve managed to get along these past few weeks, but they’re too different. Derek’s cool, he plays a million sports, he drives a Camaro, he’s friends with _Jackson_. Stiles doesn’t fit into the equation and he never will.

“Have lunch with them,” Stiles says, wishing his voice didn’t crack on the last syllable.

“Stiles,” Derek trails off and Stiles doesn’t know whether it’s a protest or an apology.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “I’m just gonna go.”

His limbs don’t feel like they’re working properly as he walks outside and his hands shake pathetically as he presses a number for speed dial on his phone.

“Can you come pick me up?” he asks when Lydia answers, his voice small.

He walks to the end of the block, trying to put distance between him and the diner, and waits for Lydia in a hardware store parking lot. A part of him wishes Derek would come after him, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But ten minutes pass before Lydia shows up, and he’s still alone on the street.

“What happened?” Lydia demands when he climbs into her car.

“I need you to take me to the Hale’s so I can get my car,” he says instead.

“You can get your car later. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Look, Lydia, I’ll tell you everything, okay? But I want to get my car from the Hale’s before Derek gets home. So can we go, please?”

“You’ll tell me everything?” she hedges.

“Yes, I promise.”

“Fine,” she agrees eventually before speeding out of the parking lot.

He leans his head against the window, watching the scenery blur past him. He doesn’t cry, but he kind of wants to. He can tell Lydia’s concerned but she doesn’t push and after what feels like an eternity, they’re pulling up the driveway to the Hale’s house. She parks behind his car and turns to him.

“Meet me at my house, okay?”

He nods his assent before getting out of her car and into his own. She leaves quickly and he uses his moment of solitude to lean his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. He doesn’t want Mrs. Hale to find him out there so he leaves as soon as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

He takes the (really) long way to Lydia’s house. His mind is racing in a million different directions and he knows he’s going to have to talk about it when he gets to Lydia’s – which, while he sort of wants to vent about it he also really doesn’t want to talk about it ever. After driving around town for he doesn’t know how long, he finally pulls up to Lydia’s. He can’t help but smile a little when he sees Allison’s car parked out front, too.

He’s been to the house enough that he walks in without knocking and finds Scott, Allison, and Lydia in the kitchen, putting two frozen pizzas into the oven.

“I called in reinforcements,” Lydia explains.

“You guys didn’t have to come,” Stiles protests but can’t help but be happy they’re there.

“Of course we did,” Allison says. “We’re having a sleepover.”

“We brought pizza, dude,” Scott says. “And hella ice cream. It’s in the freezer.”

“And I have refreshments,” Lydia adds, smirking as she grabs a bottle of tequila from the liquor cabinet her parents supposedly never check.

The night devolves about as quickly as you think it would when involving four teenagers, two pizzas, and a bottle of 100 proof tequila. Even Lydia – perfectly in control and perfectly perfect Lydia – lets out an inhuman screech and downs two shots of tequila in quick succession when Stiles tells them how Jackson was involved in the whole ordeal.

“I can’t believe I ever touched that douchebag,” she coughs through the burn of liquor.

The rest of them laugh at the disgusted look on her face – whether it’s from the tequila or Jackson isn’t entirely clear.

They watch some movies, pretend not to cry during The Notebook, and eat ice cream until they all think they’ll be sick with it. It’s the perfect night to keep Stiles’ mind off his doomed crush on Derek. And it works, too. At least for a little while.

*

He spends his entire hangover moping about the fact that Derek will never return Stiles’ feelings. Sure, Derek seems to like him enough as a friend and maybe if Stiles had stuck around, he could have been Derek’s friend. But that wouldn’t be enough – Stiles is selfish enough to admit that to himself. It’s not like it was with Lydia, where he was convinced he was in love with her until she finally showed interest in him as a friend and suddenly all his romantic feelings were gone. No, he would have spent his entire friendship with Derek pining over him.

It’s better to just have no contact at all. Stiles is sure of it.

And they don’t have any contact – at least not until Wednesday when Derek makes a return to Spanish Club and practically drags Stiles out into the hallway.

“What the hell, Stiles!” he practically shouts and Stiles is taken aback by his anger. Shouldn’t _he_ be the angry one? “I’ve been trying to talk to you all week!”

And okay, yeah, maybe Stiles has been running away every time he sees Derek approaching. But still.

“I don’t want to talk,” Stiles retorts, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Well then listen,” Derek growls. “I know what Jackson said was shitty. He’s an asshole. I yelled at him and Matt for like ten minutes. But I don’t know why you left. Do you think I would have just let Jackson talk to you like that and then go have lunch with them like nothing happened? Do you think that little of me?”

“No… I…” Stiles stammers, trying to sort through Derek’s words. He feels a weight in his stomach like a stone. “I know you’re not like Jackson but… he’s your friend. And I’m not… I’m just some kid your mom made you take driving lessons from.”

“You think I give a shit about Jackson? We’re not friends. I can’t believe you think I’d be friends with someone who treats people like that.”

Stiles feels the anger snap back into him. “You know what? You don’t get to act like this is all my fault. You’ve ignored me for _years_ and even before that, you didn’t exactly treat me like I was more than some annoyance you had to put up with. So don’t act like this is all on me, Hale.”

“Jesus Christ. Whatever. Here’s the money my mom owes you for Saturday,” he says shoving the money in Stiles’ face but Stiles pushes his hand away.

“I don’t want your goddamn money!” he yells, thankful there aren’t any teachers in the hallway.

“Then what do you want?” Derek roars, equally as loud.

 _You_ , Stiles thinks. He deflates and leans back against the locker behind him, feeling like he’s just run a marathon.

“Then I’ll tell you what I want,” Derek begins after several moments of silence, his voice soft. “I want to go back in time and punch Jackson in the face in the middle of that damn diner and have lunch with you. And buy you curly fries and ask you to dinner and kiss you and—“

“Kiss me?” Stiles breathes out, interrupting him.

Derek takes a fortifying breath. “Yeah.”

“So do it now,” Stiles says, his heart pounding in his chest so loud he’s sure Derek can hear it.

He barely registers Derek moving before their lips crash together. Stiles head bangs a little against the locker he’s now pressed against but he doesn’t care – he’s got Derek’s lips on his and Derek’s hands on his hips and he’s got his own buried in Derek’s hair and they’re _kissing_. Derek kisses him hungrily, like he’s been wanting to do it for years and Stiles can’t help but moan when their tongues slip together.

Stiles has _never_ been kissed like this. Not that he’s had many kisses but this is… beyond what he thought possible. His skin feels like fire and it burns deeper wherever Derek’s hands touch him. When Derek slips his hands underneath his t-shirt, his back arches and he tugs harder on Derek’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

The pull away for breath god knows how long later – seconds, hours, days. Derek presses their foreheads together, their breath mingling between them.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Stiles whispers because, well, it’s true.

“Me either,” Derek grins and kisses him again.

*

By Friday, Stiles still can’t believe that he and Derek are doing… whatever it is they’re doing. They haven’t really talked about what they are, but then it’s only been two days, so Stiles figures they’ve got time. And he’s at least kinda sure that Derek wants to continue their as of yet unlabeled relationship, because he dragged Stiles out of the lunchroom to makeout with him in an empty classroom and asked him to come to the basketball game.

Which is why he and Lydia are sitting on the hard bleachers in the school gym, watching a sport neither one of them have ever bothered to care about before. Well, Lydia still doesn’t care about it. She only came because Stiles begged her to. Scott and Allison are on a date, otherwise he would have whined at them about coming, too.

Derek really is a great athlete. Stiles may not know much about basketball, but he does know that Derek getting the ball in the hoop so many times is a definite good thing. And it shows on the scoreboard, too, with Beacon Hills leading by 17 points with only a few minutes left in the game.

Stiles can’t wait to congratulate Derek with a victory kiss after the game. Which is of course why Jackson suddenly shows up, standing on the bench in front of Stiles and Lydia.

“What do you want?” Lydia sneers.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Jackson simpers mockingly, causing Lydia to roll her eyes. “I just wanted to talk to Stilinski here. Ask him how he managed to forgive Derek for all the awful things he said.”

Stiles furrows his brows. “Derek didn’t say anything bad, that was you.”

“Oh no,” Jackson counters, “I didn’t mean that day in the diner. I meant a few weeks ago. You know, when his mom forced him to start those driving lessons with you? What was it he said… oh, right. That you were just some loser kid whose mom used to be friends with his. That the idea of sitting in a car with you was torture and that he’d rather throw himself off a cliff than be forced to spend time with some nerd like you.”

“That’s not true,” Stiles denies.

“Don’t be spreading any bullshit, Whittemore,” Lydia snaps from her seat next to him.

“I’m just quoting my buddy Derek,” Jackson says with a smug smile. “Ask him yourself, Stilinski.”

He walks away after that, going back to sit with his own friends.

“It’s not true, Stiles,” Lydia insists.

“What if it is, though?” Stiles whispers. “It never made sense that he liked me. What if he was just using me or something? He’s way out of my league and he’s hated me forever.”

“First of all, Derek Hale is in no way out of your league, okay? And he would be insane and completely stupid to not like you. But it doesn’t make sense that he would pretend to like you. He doesn’t gain anything from it. You need to talk to him.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll just… talk to him.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the game and Stiles looks up in surprise, only to find Derek grinning at him from the court. He tries to smile back but he’s sure he doesn’t succeed. Derek tries to wave him down to the court but he grabs Lydia’s arm and leads her to the hallway, trying to avoid the crowds of people.

“Do you want to go?” Lydia asks him, her green eyes boring into his.

“No, I’m gonna stick around and talk to him. I want to get it over with.”

Lydia smiles sympathetically. “I’m sure it will work out. Do you want me to wait, though?”

She had driven them to the game because she hates riding in the Jeep but he shakes his head.

“No, you can go ahead and leave. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She hugs him and ruffles his hair before heading out with all the other people leaving after the game, still cheering for the Beacon Hills victory. He settles himself on a bench by a trophy case. Close enough to the locker rooms that hopefully Derek will see him. Sure enough, Derek spots him when he exits the locker room about fifteen minutes later and bounds over to Stiles with a smile on his face.

“Did you see my last basket at the buzzer?” he asks excitedly, hair still wet and dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Uh, no. I missed it.”

“Oh,” Derek says, sounding disappointed. “Well, did you and Lydia have fun at least? I tried to wave you down after the game.”

“Yeah, I saw. Look, Derek, Jackson told me something… and I don’t believe him or at least I don’t want to but I need to ask you. Did you say some things about me when we started the lessons? Like… about you wanting to throw yourself off a cliff instead of having to spend time with me?”

Derek freezes, his previous smile slipping from his face.

“Oh god, it’s true. You did. How could you say that shit, Derek? Was this whole thing just to fuck with me somehow? What the fuck did I do to you to deserve this?”

“Stiles, I swear, I haven’t been messing with you. I was just—“

“No,” Stiles interrupts, voice shaking. “No. You don’t get excuses. None of this makes sense and I’m done letting you screw with me.”

“Please just let me explain, Stiles.”

“There you are!” Mrs. Hale’s voice sounds and they turn to see her and the rest of the Hales approaching them. “Are you coming to dinner with us, Stiles? I know Derek was hoping you would,” she says, teasing but fond.

“I have to go,” Stiles mumbles, turning away from the group.

“Stiles!” Derek calls out after him, but he keeps on walking.

“What the hell was that, Derek?” he hears Laura ask right before he slips through the door.

He’s only a little surprised when he walks out to find Lydia sitting on the hood of her car, waiting for him. She hops off the car and squeezes her arms around him tightly, kissing his hair as he buries his face in her neck.

“Let’s go,” he says a few moments later, words muffled by her skin.

Everything else seems to be going to shit, but he can always count on having good friends.

*

He’s still mad on Monday when Derek tries to talk to him after third period, and on Tuesday when he tries again during lunch. He’s more or less fuming when Erica, Isaac, and Boyd corner him after school on Wednesday.

“Look Stilinski,” Erica begins, “we don’t know what Derek did to piss you off but he has been fucking miserable since the basketball game.”

“It’s getting really annoying,” Isaac drawls, inspecting his nails.

Boyd, as per usual, is silent.

“The point is: you need to talk to him before he actually mopes himself to death,” Erica tells him. “He’s about one step away from buying a Smiths album and starting a blog dedicated to your goddamn face. So talk to him.”

And with that, the trio of terror walks away.

He’s not really sure what to make of the whole interaction but it must have had some sort of effect on him because when Derek tries to talk to him the next day after school, he says okay. He follows Derek out to the lacrosse field and it’s pretty cold out, but they sit on the bleachers and Stiles waits for Derek to start talking.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, sounding pained. “It was so stupid. I didn’t mean any of those things – I was _embarrassed_ that I needed your help. Stiles, I’ve liked you for so long I don’t even know when it started and I just… I hated the idea that you were going to see me be so bad at something. You’ve always been so smart and the only thing I’m good at is sports but that seemed like enough, you know? But I didn’t want you to see me fail.”

“Wow,” Stiles replies, for lack of something better. He’s silent for a few moments before speaking again. “Derek, you have to know all that stuff isn’t true. You’re not a failure, okay, you didn’t fail at anything. And you’re smart, too. Incredibly so. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Derek shrugs. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know I messed everything up. I just couldn’t stand it if you thought I was messing with you. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He huffs a laugh and continues, “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, grinning.

Derek grimaces. “Don’t make fun.”

“How about I do this instead?” he suggests and cups Derek’s neck to bring him forward into a kiss.

Derek responds immediately, scooting closer on the bench and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. They tangle themselves together as their lips and tongues move together, until Stiles swings a leg over to straddle Derek. He doesn’t grind his hips down, even though he can feel how hard Derek is under his own hardness, mostly because they’re still outside and he’s not sure how he feels about sex on the lacrosse field, but the kiss is still amazing. Slower than the first one they shared in the hallway during Spanish Club. Their lips linger on every passing touch and their tongues slide together sinuously. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine when Derek turns his attention to his neck.

“You’re gonna give me a hickey,” Stiles gasps as Derek continues to suck and bite at his neck.

This revelation evidently does not deter Derek in the slightest and a few minutes later Derek pulls away with a satisfied smirk.

“Someone’s possessive,” he mutters as he watches Derek stare smugly at the blossoming mark.

“I want to make sure everyone is clear on whether you’re taken.”

“And you’re so sure I’m taken?” he asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

“I hope so,” Derek whispers, serious.

Stiles figures the best answer to that is to lean down and capture his lips in another kiss, letting his lips do the talking in his new favorite way. He nips lightly at Derek’s bottom lip and soothes it with his tongue before brushing their lips together again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Derek whispers into his mouth.

Stiles grins before diving back into the kiss. He’s glad they’ve found a new language to communicate in.

*

Derek doesn’t need driving lessons anymore, but driving turns into one of their favorite things to do together. Sometimes they take the Jeep to the old drive in theater an hour away that only plays old horror movies and do things in the backseat that should not be talked about in polite company. And on days like today, they hop into the Camaro and drive until they hit the coast, so they can sit in the car and watch the waves (they don’t sit on the beach because Derek has a thing about sand getting into the car).

“How long do you think it will take us to convince one of our roommates to move out?” Stiles asks.

They both got into Berkeley, Stiles with an academic scholarship and Derek with an athletic one for baseball (thank god – Stiles likes baseball way better than basketball), but their parents hadn’t let them request each other as roommates on their housing forms.

“I give it two days,” Derek bets.

“Only two? That might be a little ambitious.”

“We just have to mark our territory,” Derek says with a feral grin.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles teases. “How are we gonna do that?”

He shrieks with laughter when Derek climbs into the backseat and pulls Stiles back with him, laying him down on the seat so Derek can settle between his legs.

“Like this,” Derek says and grinds his hips down into Stiles’.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles moans, arching his back and wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist.

Derek makes quick work of their shirts and they both struggle with their pants a little before they’re finally naked and rutting against each other, kissing in between breathless gasps and moans.

“I want you to fuck me,” Stiles begs, jerking his hips up.

His skin is feverish as he watches Derek grasp around under the seats for the lube and condoms they keep stashed. When Derek finally finds them and squeezes some lube onto his fingers before pushing one into Stiles’ hole, he cries out in pleasure, letting his legs fall open further. They’re pretty much pros and prep now but Derek still takes his time fingering Stiles open, working him up to three fingers and probing at his sweet spot until he has Stiles whimpering beneath him.

“Come on,” Stiles demands. “Get your dick in me.”

“So sweet,” Derek teases but follows the order anyway, rolling a condom on and lining himself up before pushing in, making them both groan.

Derek starts slow, seemingly wanting to drag it out until Stiles can’t stand it any longer. And as much as Stiles loves that kind of sex, he really wants to be _fucked_ and he tells Derek as much.

“Harder, Derek, come on. Fuck me like you fucking mean it,” he shouts.

Apparently Derek is happy to follow his orders this time because he starts to thrust into Stiles in earnest, seemingly pushing deeper every time. Stiles tightens his legs around Derek and bites down a scream when he starts to ram his prostate with each slide of his cock.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Derek pants into Stiles’ neck.

Stiles starts to feel the coil of his impending orgasm deep in his stomach and he reaches down to jerk himself off as Derek uses the handle above the door as leverage to piston into him even harder. His orgasm explodes from him not half a minute later, ropes of come striping his chest.

“Shit,” Derek groans from above him and Stiles can tell he’s close by the look on his face.

“Come for me, Derek,” Stiles commands, because hey, Derek seems to be listening to him tonight.

He jerks into Stiles half a dozen more times before going still, gasping as his orgasm rocks through him. They catch their breath for a minute before Derek pulls out and they clean up (Stiles makes Derek go outside to find a trash can for the condom).

“You’re right,” Stiles tells him as they drive back to Beacon Hills, “if we do that a lot, one of our roommates is bound to get uncomfortable. Or just annoyed.”

“Well, you’ll be able to do that last part just on your own.”

“Oh shut up,” Stiles laughs and kicks his feet up on the dashboard, just to piss Derek off, laughing even harder when Derek tries to swat at his leg.

He’s stupidly in love with this man, he thinks as he watches Derek try to suppress a grin.

“I’m stupidly in love with you,” he says because he’s not one to keep things inside and he rather likes to see the slow smile that spreads on Derek’s face whenever he says it – like he can’t believe he got someone like Stiles to love him.

“I love you, too,” he responds happily, conceding the fight against feet on the dashboard.

He watches Derek drive for a while, fully aware that Derek knows he’s staring. He can’t help it, though. He’s got the most attractive boyfriend in the world. And as much as it pleases him when Derek acts like he can’t believe how he got Stiles, Stiles _really_ can’t believe how he managed to capture the affection of Derek. All things considered, he supposes he should probably thank Talia. Or maybe Derek for hitting their mailbox in the first place. Either way, things turned out pretty great.

**Author's Note:**

> [come at me bro](http://anarrowofcarnations.tumblr.com/) (tumblr). I'm always happy to chat on there and take prompts if you're so inclined.


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